


The world is wrong and I’m wrung

by hope_calaris



Category: Franklin & Bash
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_calaris/pseuds/hope_calaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has never been that scared in his life. Not when his parents told him they were getting a divorce, and he knew nothing would be the same again. Not when Jared had told him he wouldn’t attend the same high school. Not when Janie said to him they had to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The world is wrong and I’m wrung

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The moment unicorns are real, I make money with this. Title taken from the poem “Pieces” by Amal El-Mothar.

_I will never be able to eat there again._  
  
That is his first and for some endless moments only thought when everything is over.  
  
It’s a silly thought and not in the slightest an adequate reaction to what has happened, but the nurse tells him that it doesn’t even make the Top Ten of random thoughts in life-threatening situations. He doesn’t find her words very comforting, though. Not when he stares down at his hands, blood smears all over them, and fruitlessly picks at his ruined shirt. He has no idea where he left his tie.  
  
\---  
  
His tie lies some feet away from where he’s kneeling on the floor in the dinner. It’s suddenly cold, and Peter hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and there are six panicked people in the same room, pressed against the wall and trying not to breathe too loudly.  
  
And then there’s Jared.  
  
Jared, who lies on the floor, and whose breath is more a wheeze and cuts through the tension like a clock ticking away the rest of their lives.  
  
 _No, no, no, no._  
  
Peter has never been that scared in his life. Not when his parents told him they were getting a divorce, and he knew nothing would be the same again. Not when Jared had told him he wouldn’t attend the same high school. Not when Janie said to him they had to talk.  
  
 _Please, don’t …_  
  
He’s lost the feeling in his hands some time ago, but he doesn’t move an inch. There’s blood on the floor, coloring the worn linoleum crimson. There’s blood soaking Jared’s vest, turning the grey into black. The fabric feels heavy and soggy under his hands, even with the added layer of his own jacket. He’s pressing down on Jared’s chest like he’s told him and prays to everyone who’s willing to listen that it will be enough.  
  
 _Please, don’t …_  
  
\---  
  
 _I’m not ready to be a home owner._  
  
That’s his next thought, and it’s as silly as the first one. The Cave is actually Jared’s, he’s inherited it from his lovely grandma when she passed away in their last year in Law School. And he knows it’s in Jared’s will that he will get the Cave. Not that he ever thought it would come to this.  
  
 _I don’t want to live there alone._  
  
The blood is slowly drying on his hands, cracking into tiny bits falling to the floor. He closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall. He’s seen enough blood on floors to last him a lifetime.  
  
\---  
  
 _I want a cheeseburger. And fries. Lots of fries._  
  
He high fives Jared when he sits down next to him, a big grin on his face. The Marcello case is finally over, and Jared has been brilliant.  
  
“I’m proud of you, buddy,” he tells him.  
  
“Thanks, I’m pretty proud myself. That bastard really belonged behind bars,” Jared says and turns around to order.  
  
 _Maybe we should get ice cream as well, to celebrate._  
  
“Jared Franklin?” somebody asks.  
  
“Yes?” Jared’s hand is still slightly raised to signal the waitress when he turns his head to search for the person speaking to him.  
  
 _I’m in the mood for chocolate ice cream._  
  
“Hey, Jared, I want ice -- ” but Peter never gets the chance to tell him about the ice cream.  
  
\---  
  
Carmen sits next to him. For a while she looked as if she wanted to hug him, but finally decided against it. Pindar is running holes into the ground, and normally Peter would tell him how annoying he is, but he can’t find it in him to care; not even that Pindar actually left the house. Hanna looks equally scared and determined to hit the next person to look wrong at her. Even Stanton is here. Peter thinks he remembers him saying that Karp has headed over to the D.A. office, and something about a text from Janie about Marcello’s people rotting in hell. He’s not sure.  
  
 _Please, just …_  
  
It already feels wrong sitting here. He knows he’s not alone, but without Jared by his side he might as well be. It’s always been them against the rest of the world, and somewhere along the way he’s forgotten how not to be part of a duo. It’s all he knows since he first met Jared.  
  
It’s Peter and Jared.  
  
Franklin and Bash.  
  
He doesn’t want to be Peter Bash on his own.  
  
 _C’mon, Jared, you’re stronger than this._  
  
\---  
  
They’re gone before he’s had a chance to fully realize what has happened.  
  
And then Jared’s on the floor, and Peter has no idea how he got there. He hears screaming and yelling, and a man jumps out the window on his left side.  
  
 _There’s a door if you want to leave that desperately._  
  
“Peter?” Jared’s voice is what spurs him into action. He sounds surprised, and now that Peter listens more closely to him, he also sounds like he’s in pain.  
  
He looks down and doesn’t comprehend anything.  
  
 _Blood? Why’s there blood? Is that even blood? Did someone spill ketchup? And so much? Must be a klutz._  
  
“Peter,” Jared sounds more urgent now. “Know that … ” he draws a shuddering breath, “that I’m the pre-med, but don’t … don’t faint on me, okay?”  
  
And then reality comes crashing down on him, and he feels like he’s suffocating. His knees buckle, but that’s okay because he has to go down to be close to Jared anyway.  
  
“No, I’m not … c’mon, I watched _The Evil Dead 2_ with you last week, didn’t I?” he tells Jared and shrugs out of his jacket.  
  
“Right … with your … your face behind your hands -- you have to put pressure on -- ” Jared says and points feebly in the vague direction of the right side of his chest.  
  
“I know,” Peter says and presses down -- hard. Jared gasps loudly, and Peter is about ready to let go to spare him more pain, but Jared’s right hand curls around wrist like he’s holding on for dear life.  
  
 _He is. Oh my God … he’s bleeding out ..did someone call 911? I should, but no, I can’t move …_  
  
“Peter, don’t panic.”  
  
“You really think now is the right time to show your affinity for Douglas Adams?” Peter asks, his voice wavering between a laugh and a sob.  
  
“ _Life, the Universe, and Everything_ … there’s … ah … there’s no wrong time for Douglas,” Jared says, his voice now only a mere whisper.  
  
“Yeah, tell me about it later, okay? We can even watch that movie again. The one with the depressive robot, and -- fuck, why can’t we trade places? I have no idea what I’m doing here, and you’re the pre-med, and where are the paramedics?”  
  
“Peter.”  
  
“And I’m gonna kill Marcello with my bare hands, I swear -- ”  
  
“Peter,” Jared repeats and tugs at Peter’s wrist.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I wouldn’t trade with you,” he whispers and then his eyes roll back in his head.  
  
 _No, no, no, no. Please, don’t …_  
  
\---  
  
(four weeks later)  
  
They don’t work. Well, maybe Carmen and Pindar do, he’s not sure. Not that he cares much about these kinds of things these days. He’s caught in this weird state induced by too much caffeine and too little rest where he feels like he could either sleep for days on end or never go to bed again.  
  
Currently, he’s decided to give sleep another chance, but the moonlight filtering through the curtains is mocking him. He’s imaging whole plays with the shadows on the ceiling, and they all tell from bloodshed and murder. When he has enough he presses his knuckles against his eyes and tries not to think about anything.  
  
 _Don’t … just … think of football … and parties …_  
  
\---  
  
He has never doubted his decision to become a lawyer, no matter what. Not when his mother was worried he was only doing it to follow Jared. Not when they had to pull all-nighters because Peter was panicking over finals and made Jared go over the questions again with him. Not when he’d seen people losing in court because they couldn’t send their kids to private school. He usually loves being a lawyer, no matter what.  
  
He hates it today.  
  
 _Why didn’t I insist on being co-counsel? Why did I leave him alone?_  
  
“Peter, maybe we should take you -- ” Carmen’s voice is soft and gentle, but he glares at her.  
  
“No.”  
  
“But they said it will be some hours before Jared’s out of surgery.”  
  
“I said no.”  
  
She doesn’t ask again.  
  
\---  
  
It’s been four long, horrible weeks, and he feels like he’s aged twenty years. Finally, he gives up trying to sleep and gets up. Anything is better than staring at the ceiling and feeling like he’s suffocating.  
  
The floor is cold under his naked feet, and sometimes he wonders if it’s really cold or if it’s the lack of sleep that’s making him feel things that aren’t there. He becomes a real philosopher at three o’clock in the morning. Life tends to do that to you when it puts a bullet through your best friend. He nearly gags.  
  
 _Don’t … think …_  
  
\---  
  
“In recovery … touch and go for a while … lost a lot of blood … next 24 hours … ”  
  
He knows he’s hearing words, complete sentences even, but they sound like a puzzle to him.  
  
 _You’re still here, Jared? Please, be still here …_  
  
“Can I see him?” he asks, his voice hoarse.  
  
“In an hour,” the doctor says and leaves.  
  
He nods and it takes him a moment to realize he’s crying.  
  
\---  
  
“Why aren’t you asleep?” Pindar asks him when he leaves his room. Pindar’s hair is wet, it looks like yet another late-night shower. He’s been worse with them the past few weeks, but it’s not like Peter can reproach him for it.  
  
“I … um.” He simply shrugs. There’s really no need for an explanation, actually. He’s awake for the same reason Pindar’s having even more showers than normal, and Carmen nearly hit a few people in search for a party in the Cave.  
  
 _Don’t think about it._  
  
“He’s on the couch,” Pindar says quietly and awkwardly pats Peter’s shoulder. He must look really bad when Pindar of all people tries to comfort him.  
  
“Thanks, buddy,” he replies quietly and walks over to the couch.  
  
\---  
  
He has no idea what time it is, only that it’s raining outside when they finally let him see Jared.  
  
He kinda whishes they wouldn’t have.  
  
Jared has never been tall in the common definition. His wit and his attitude is what makes people notice him, not his height. But this … this is Jared at his tiniest. The bed looks huge surrounding him, and there are so many cables and lines and different sounds that Peter’s not sure Jared actually has a chance against all of this.  
  
 _Please, just …_  
  
“Hi … um, Jared? It’s me, Peter,” he whispers and takes Jared’s hand after he’s sat down on a chair next to the bed. “I know you’re really fond of your beauty sleep, but this … really, you shouldn’t go to such great lengths just to get it. A word from you and I’d have let you sleep in tomorrow. No problem.” He draws a shuddering breath, not sure how to go on. He’s afraid to stop talking, because the irrational part of his mind tells him that Jared will take it as a sign that he can go on, without Peter. And Peter is very much against this idea.  
  
“So, yeah … anyway, how about we make a deal? I mean, we are lawyers, we make deals all the time, don’t we? You wake up in … let’s say the next hour or two, and afterwards you can sleep as much as you want. How does that sound? You just need to wake up first, buddy,” he says and squeezes Jared’s hand, but there’s no reaction.  
  
\---  
  
He sits down next to Jared on the couch. It’s dark in the living room, the tv isn’t on, and neither is the Playstation or the Xbox. Jared is in his bathrobe, his hands in his lap, and he’s simply staring straight ahead at the blank tv screen.  
  
“Nothing good on?” Peter asks.  
  
“Nah,” is all Jared says and doesn’t turn around.  
  
Peter opens his mouth to say something else, but then he realizes he doesn’t know what. This is new and frightening. He always knows what to say and how to act around Jared, but this -- this, he’s not sure he knows how to handle. In fact, he’s sure he has no idea how to handle it.

  
In a way, it was easier back in the hospital. He knew what his role was there: to charm the nurses, to be the buffer between Jared and his parents, to convey get well-wishes from people he didn’t even know they knew, to tell bad jokes to distract Jared from the pain, to tell him everything was going to be okay once he got released.  
  
 _Nothing is okay._  
  
Jared got released a week ago, and Peter feels like they’re floating in an ocean and lost their anchor ever since.  
  
\---  
  
Jared wakes up ten hours later, at 4:13 in the morning. It’s still raining. His hand twitches, and Peter only realizes it because he holds it in his hand.  
  
 _Thank God … oh God, thank you._  
  
He feels like crying again when Jared’s eyes slowly blink open; crying, and singing Hallelujah and dancing naked in the street.  
  
“Hey there,” he whispers and runs a shaky hand through Jared’s hair.  
  
“Peter?”  
  
“Shhh,” he says, smiling and blinking the tears away, “everything’s going to be okay, Jared.”  
  
\---  
  
They don’t talk -- well, they do, in a way.  
  
 _Have you taken your meds? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?_  
  
They don’t talk about the important stuff, though --- which is fucking ridiculous if you think about it. They’re Franklin and Bash, they’re the fucking Kings of talking. They talk about everything; they tell each other everything. Janie had always complained about his need to share every tiny bit of his day with Jared, but then that’s probably the reason why they never worked out.  
  
Jared doesn’t talk about the diner. He doesn’t ask about Marcello’s men or the pending trial. Once, he’s asked if other people were hurt, and when Peter shook his head the conversation was over. It’s as if he pretends he got the gunshot wound by playing Call of Duty, not because somebody aimed a real weapon in a real diner at him and pulled a real trigger.  
  
“You should be in bed, the doctor -- ”  
  
“I want to go to the diner tomorrow,” Jared interrupts him.  
  
“You -- no fucking way,” Peter replies in horror. They’re not going there. It’s bad enough that he feels like shielding Jared from the outside world with his body all the time, that he can’t smell grease without gagging, that he’s walking through his day nearly speechless -- he’s not going to take Jared to the place that started it all.  
  
“I want,” Jared swallows, “no, I _need_ to see it,” he whispers and finally turns around. He’s biting his lips and looks so tired and worn down that it threatens to break Peter’s heart. He wants to touch Jared, wants to hug him so tight that nobody will ever be able to hurt him again because he has to go through Peter first, but he does none of these things because he’s afraid of hurting Jared himself. He sees Jared wincing and closing his eyes and simply stopping and breathing for a minute or two when he thinks no one is there to watch him, and Peter knows that Jared hurts way more than he lets on.  
  
“Jar … ”  
  
“Please,” Jared says quietly and looks away again, but his left hand curls around Peter’s right one resting on the couch. It feels cold, and Peter turns his hand with his palm up so he can squeeze Jared’s.  
  
“Okay … okay. If that’s what you want.”  
  
 _Everything for you._  
  
“Thanks,” Jared says, and then they sit side by side till the sun rises.  
  
\---  
  
“You want to do _what_?” Peter really, really tries to keep his voice down as not to disturb Jared’s painkiller-induced sleep in his hospital bed, but the man in front of him makes it really difficult.  
  
“I’m just saying that we have the means to provide a more comfortable home while he reco -- ”  
  
“Home? _Home_?!?” Peter is close to jabbing his finger at Leonard’s chest. He wants to throttle this man, and right now he doesn’t care that Jared’s mom would get a first row seat to her husband’s murder. “Your house hasn’t been a home to Jared since 7th grade. The Cave is his home.”  
  
Leonard huffs. The man fucking _huffs_ at him. Peter feels his fingernails drawing blood where he’s curled his fingers into fists. “Are you even listening to yourself, Mr Bash? The _Cave_? You’re not twelve anymore, in case you’ve forgotten. This is nothing that will be okay by building a tree house in your backyard. My son got shot.”  
  
“Oh, really? Tell me something I don’t know,” Peter hisses. “Because it’s not like I wasn’t there, watching him bleed out on the floor -- ”  
  
 _Don’t throw up now._  
  
“And why did that happen?” Leonard asks calmly.  
  
“Wh … what?”  
  
“Why did they target him, and not you? In fact, why weren’t you co-counsel? Busy with yet another stripper case?”  
  
“Leonard, please,” that’s Jared’s mom, her hand on Leonard’s arm, but he doesn’t listen to her.  
  
“No, Emilia, I sat back and watched this long enough. It’s ridiculous. Jared could be working for me, he could be a great lawyer, but instead -- instead he chose _this_.” He nearly spits out the last word, and rationally Peter knows that Leonard is only throwing wild punches because he’s scared for his life’s son, and if anything, Peter can sympathize with that feeling. Jared will be okay, the doctors told them as much, but knowing and believing these kinds of things are two completely different matters. And Leonard being an asshole doesn’t help any, because this time Jared isn’t even awake to defend himself. No, Peter is alone in this, but he won’t let Leonard win. Not this time, never when it comes to Jared.  
  
“And what exactly does _this_ mean?” he asks.  
  
“You,” rolls from Leonard’s lips and it sounds like a curse. “He chose you and mediocrity and being a joke for the entire law community with your little firm for the longest time.”  
  
Peter can live with a lot of things, Pindar’s aerophobia, Carmen’s on/off love for Dante, Karp doubting their abilities and Infeld’s bouts of craziness, but he can’t live with the knowledge that Leonard actually thinks Franklin & Bash is some kind of college joke. They built it from the ground, they had next to nothing and ate cold Ravioli for months while they tried to win clients and failed more often than not. It’s theirs, Jared’s and his, and it’s every reason to be proud.  
  
He hits Leonard’s square in the face.  
  
“You’re not taking Jared to your so-called home, no matter what,” he growls and smirks in satisfaction at Leonard’s bloody nose.  
  
“You bastard, I’ll sue your ass from here to -- ”  
  
“No, you won’t,” Jared’s mom interrupts him when she hands him a handkerchief. There’s a look of grim determination on her face that Peter’s never seen before.  
  
“Emilia?” Leonard asks, for the first time since he’s entered the hospital openly confused.  
  
“You’ll leave this room and wait at the car for me, Leonard,” she says sternly. “You won’t sue Mr. Bash.”  
  
“But he assaulted -- ”  
  
“No, Leonard,” she repeats and more or less shoves her husband in the direction of the door. “I want to see my son on Christmas, so you’ll leave now.” And then Leonard is gone and Peter is left speechless.  
  
“You … um … thanks?”  
  
“Don’t thank me,” she says quietly when she walks to Jared’s bed and strokes his hand. “Just tell him we were here, please? And if you could let me know when he wakes up again … ?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Thank you, Peter,” she says and for a moment she gives him the gentle smile he remembers from his childhood. He wants to say something else, to thank her, to ask her to stay, to be there for Jared, but before he can formulate a sentence she’s out the door.  
  
\---  
  
It’s nearly lunch time, but eating is the furthest on Peter’s mind. He actually feels a bit sick right now and wonders how Jared can act so calmly about all of this. They’re standing in the diner. It’s still closed, but Peter got the keys from Jamie, the owner. He’d looked at Peter like he’d grown a second head, but gave him the keys in the end.  
  
 _Everything for Jared._  
  
“So, you … um … saw it. Can we go now?” Peter asks and hopes his absolute terror doesn’t show too much in his voice. Jared shakes his head, takes a few steps and slumps down on one of the chairs on the counter, his eyes fixed on their usual spot at the window.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why not?” Peter asks desperately. His every instinct tells him to get out of here, to take Jared with him and run as fast and as long as they can.  
  
"Because this ... " Jared gestures to the space between them. "This is not us. This is not me. I'm not angry and sad and furious all the time. I don't alternate between staring at the wall for hours feeling nothing and wanting to punch people. I'm a ball of sunshine. I don't do emo. In fact, I _suck_ at doing emo."  
  
"Jar -- "  
  
"No, shut up," Jared says with a growl and then rubs the back of his neck with a sigh. "See what I mean? I don't growl ... this is all fucked up."  
  
Peter doesn’t say anything, because he has no idea how to make any of this better. If there’s anything to say to erase the sad and tired look in Jared’s eyes.  
  
“And you … ,” Jared gives a sad chuckle, “you don’t even know how to talk to me anymore, what to do. It’s like you’re not the Peter I know anymore, and I hate it. Hate it, because this,” he points at the ominous point at the floor where he lay bleeding, and Peter winces, “shouldn’t have the power to change so much. Not between us. Never between us.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Peter says quietly.  
  
“No, no -- I don’t want you to be sorry,” Jared says and runs a hand through his hair. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for! None of this is your fault. If anything, it’s mine -- ”  
  
“What? No!”  
  
“Because I lead these bastards straight to our diner, to you! I didn’t even realize I was being followed -- how stupid can I be?”  
  
“No, Jared, this isn’t your fault either.”  
  
“Then whose fault is it?”  
  
“… ”  
  
“See? So you can stop blaming yourself.”  
  
“I don’t -- ”  
  
“Oh please.” Jared rolls his eyes. “You don’t sleep, you don’t work, but you punched my dad in the face.”  
  
“You know about that? You were asleep -- ”  
  
“You really think I wouldn’t get to know you actually hitting the mighty Leonard Franklin?”  
  
“Um … you’re okay with this?”  
  
“Dude,” Jared sounds oddly pleased, “after you came so close to hitting him twice before, I’m really proud of you now. I only wish I’d been awake to see it. Or throw a punch of my own.”  
  
“Nah, your mom wants you to visit on Christmas.”  
  
“Oh, okay … so, are you gonna come over here or do I have to keep staring at you from far away?”  
  
“Eyesight getting bad in your old days?” Peter mocks him with a small smile, but nevertheless crosses the distance with a few steps.  
  
“No, I just wanted to do that,” Jared, who’s still sitting, says and leans against Peter. And when Peter feels Jared’s familiar weight against his chest, it feels a bit like some part of him that was out of tune is fixed now. He puts an arm around Jared’s shoulder and draws him a bit tighter against his side. It feels warm and comforting and simply right. “You know, you being around, that helps,” Jared says really quietly, his voice muffled by Peter’s shirt. “I don’t need you walking on eggshells ‘cause that reminds me of … this, and I’m sick and tired of being reminded of this. Actually, I’m just really tired.”  
  
“Then … um,” Peter has to clear his throat before he can continue, “how about we go back to the Cave and get some sleep? The both of us.”  
  
“Sounds like a plan.”  
  
“Okay, then,” Peter says and keeps his arm around Jared’s shoulder when they make their way out.  
  
“And, Peter?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Franklin and Bash was never a joke to me. It’s the best fucking thing we ever did.”  
  
“Totally agree.”  
  
 _\- fin_


End file.
